On Angel's Wings 5
by Mummyluvr
Summary: The brothers go down to Georgia to check out demonic activity surrounding a young psychic. Deception runs deep in Cold Water, though, and they find that one of their most Heavenly of allies is their most Hellish foe yet. Final story in the OAW series.
1. Chapter 1

I'm back with yet another sequel that isn't even supposed to exist. That's right, it's the (definitely) final chapter in the OAW series. What? You've never heard of it? Summary time!

So, if you've never read any of the stories, or just need a refresher course, here are some quick summaries. If you think you're ok, ignore these. Ready, set, read!

_OAW1:_ The brothers are investigating a cult that's kidnapping psychics when Sam is taken. Dean reveals that he doesn't believe in God and tests the deity, requesting to see an angel in the room. He gets his wish, and sprouts wings. With these wings and few heavenly abilities, he saves his brother from the evil cult, which is run by the YED, but not before a young pyrokinetic named Holly becomes possessed by her "father" and kills him. Sam is initiated into the cult, kills most of them off, and brings his brother back to life with a touch.

_OAW2:_ Sam's been kidnapped again, and Dean goes to a church looking to get his wings back. He runs into a young blond man named Gabe who grants his wish, and goes after Sam. Sam's abilities have become stronger since his initiation and now he's after blood- mainly Dean's, as killing his remaining family will complete the ritual. The brothers scuffle, and Dean once again is able to save his brother from the cult, killing the YED and all of the official members. Sam is dying, though, and Gabe offers to heal him before taking Dean's wings back. Somebody up there likes the eldest Winchester, though, and Dean gets to keep his brother _and_ his wings.

_OAW3:_ Immortality comes with a price. Fifty-five years after tracking down the Colt, Dean learns that the hard way, as he stays 27 forever while Sam ages before his eyes. Dean refuses to let his brother die, afraid to spend eternity alone. He might not have to, though, when he meets Angie, a girl in a similar position. She steals the Colt and kills Sam, revealing that she is a demon. Dean goes to clear his thoughts after killing her and runs into Sam, brought back by a Higher Power and eager to show off his new wings.

_OAW4:_ Sam has started having visions again, this time of psychics being killed by demons. The brothers go to help one such psychic- the baby that they rescued in Salvation- and run into more trouble. The YED had a brother who wants Sam dead. He kidnaps the Winchesters and cuts off Sam's wings, rending him mortal, before finally killing the younger man. Dean tries to end his own life, but Gabe won't allow it, citing the coming war and the need for soldiers. Dean turns his back on the forces that gave him his wings. Sam comes back once again to fight by his brother's side. It turns out that there are war mongers on both sides, and the brothers need to be careful.

Whew. Maybe it would have taken you guys less time to read the actual stories, huh? Now, onto this one. The technical stuff:�

**Title:**On Angel's Wings 5

**Summary: **The Winchester brothers are perfectly content with their lot in life, and want little to do with the forces that gave them their wings and the war that seems to be brewing until Gabe shows up to tell them that a new demon seems to have risen and is targeting psychic kids. The town that the boy lives in is overrun with demons, and deception runs deep. Who can the brothers trust? And are their closest allies more than they appear to be?

**Rating:** T�

**Warnings:** If you're new to the series, you don't know it, but these things are my most graphic works. Just ask other readers. That being said, there's blood, guts, gore, and some language, as well as violence.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the show. It's Kripke's. I think they referenced OAW1 in Houses of the Holy, but I can't be sure. Fluffy white feathers being scattered around and guys getting impaled by metal poles are common occurrences, right?

**Dedication:** This story is dedicated to Chrissy Shavlik, the free dog that cost so much, and somehow managed to give it all back. Dec. 24, 1996- March 15, 2008.

Now, on to the actual story (which is probably shorter than that intro...):

* * *

On Angel's Wings 5

Hot breath stung his face, rancid drool coming ever closer to dripping into his open mouth, and the only thing that he could think of as two-inch fangs bared down upon him was how much it would suck having to pick up the pieces of his mangled body and put them back together again.

The hell hound steadied itself, placing one large paw on either side of Sam's body, straddling the man, pushing him farther into the dirt until the fragile bones sprouting from his back groaned in protest.

And to think they'd almost gone after the vampire nest in St. Louis.

He called out to his brother, hoping that the older man had been able to wrest his way from the clutches of the hound's master in time to provide a quick save, because Sam honestly didn't think that he had much time left.

The overgrown dog snarled then lunged, clamping powerful jaws down on the hunter's neck. Pain exploded across his throat and down his body, cooling to a slow burn as the thing shrieked in pain and stumbled off, foaming at the mouth.

He would have told the hound where it could go, or at least come up with some witty comeback. He tired to, anyway. It was pretty hard to articulate much of anything with his vocal chords hanging out of his ripped throat.

The hound retreated, pawing at its burnt face and glaring at Sam with stupid, red eyes. It mustered a single growl before lunging at him once more, determined to finish its master's assigned task despite the pain.

It only made it about half-way to the bloodied spot of ground where Sam sat, trying to bring the world back into focus. A shadow loomed overhead, growing larger as the figure in the sky grew closer.

The hell hound let out a single, plaintive howl as a shaft of fire was shoved clean through it, pinning the dog to its spot before sending it spiraling back to the earth mid-leap. Its humongous paws twitched, its nostrils flared, and it finally stilled.

Dean Winchester let out a breath he hadn't even realized that he'd been holding, watching with wide eyes as the flaming sword twinkled and disappeared. He turned to his brother and smiled. Sam responded with a glare.

"Oh, come on," Dean gushed, "you gotta admit that was cool."

Sam put a hand to his bleeding neck and scowled. "Show-off."

"Jealous?" Dean asked, surveying the scene, the blood, the scraps of his brother's throat that littered the ground. "Sorry I was late."

"Late," Sam questioned, removing his tacky hand from the unmarred skin of his neck, "or out-matched?"

It was the older man's turn to scowl. "You know that bitch was old," he defended.

"But she was possessing a nine-year-old."

"Which is exactly what made it hard to beat her," Dean pointed out, holding out a hand to help his brother up, "besides, I got here in time."

Sammy snorted. "Barely." They looked back at the body of the hell hound, which lay smoldering and foaming on the dusty ground. "What are we gonna do about Cujo?"

"Salt and burn. What else?"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sam flicked his wrist, waiting for that spark, that ember, that shaft of fire that seemed to come so easily into his brother's grasp when commanded. There was nothing.

"Forget it, Sammy," Dean muttered, rolling up an old pair of jeans and shoving it into his duffle bag, "you just can't do it."

"I thought this stuff was universal."

"Maybe you're just special."

"Maybe you're just an idiot."

"Maybe you should shut up."

Sam made a noise deep in his throat that sounded suspiciously like the hell hound's final vocalization upon being skewered. "I'm serious, Dean. I think there's something wrong with me."

"Oh, you mean besides the psychic visions, the demon hunting, and the friggin' _wings_?"

"I haven't had a vision in years, we hunt because we've got nothing better to do now, and you can't possibly blame me for that last one. That was all you, man."

Dean nodded. "True, but your constant desire to be just like your big bro had a little something to do with it, right?"

"Sure," Sam said, flicking his wrist out again and rolling his eyes, "whatever."

The older man sighed, watching his brother from the corner of his eyes. "You're doing it wrong."

"What?"

"It's not in the wrist. It's everywhere else. You gotta think about it, gather it up and send it to your hand, otherwise you get jack squat."

"You know how stupid that sounds?" Sam asked.

"Hey, I'm the one whipping out the flaming sword from nowhere, and you're the one getting gutted by Cujo's demonic cousin. Yeah, I'm the stupid one."

Sam sighed and closed his eyes, ducking his head and concentrating. He could feel something, all right. A heat radiating from his face. "This is stupid, Dean," he muttered.

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but was cut-off by a loud knock on the door of the motel room. Shrugging on his jacket, and making sure that Sam had time to don his own, he went to answer it.

A tall blond man stood at the door, his blue eyes sparkling in the light of the setting sun, his business suit making him look out of place at the run-down motel. "Hello, Dean."

"Gabe," the hunter said, his hand straying back toward the door. The visitor didn't give him a chance to close it. "Since when do you knock?"

The angel stepped inside and inspected the small room. "Since I have a request."

"We've been over this," Sam said, "and we're not doing your dirty work. You screwed us over one too many times."

"This isn't _my_ request," the blond stated simply, "I have Higher orders."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and stared at their visitor. "Higher? Like, _Higher _higher?"

Gabe nodded. "We've got a problem down south that we need you boys to look into."

"What kind of problem?" Sam asked.

"Sixteen years ago, a baby was born in Cold Water, Georgia," the angel explained, "six months ago, he started showing signs of psychic abilities." He stared straight at Sam, "that would make him the first psychic born since the last of Rosie Wilkinson's generation died off, meaning-"

"Meaning," Dean interrupted, "that there's a new demon in town marking kids."

"He's the first we've seen," Gabe confirmed, "but who knows how many are out there."

"Why do you need us?"

The angel sighed. "We were watching the town. Last week, it fell off the map. Disappeared completely from our radar. There was a spike of demonic activity, and then nothing."

"You're thinking demons did it?"

"If the boy really was marked at birth, then they'll want him."

"I told you," Dean muttered, turning his back on the man and going back to his packing, "we're not fighting in your war. We're freelancers."

"We're not asking you to fight. We're asking you to save a life. The boy is innocent until they turn him. We could still take him. He could be an asset."

"Or he could be a sixteen-year-old kid," Sam argued, "who has no business fighting in your Holy War. Leave us out of it."

Gabe narrowed his eyes. "If there really is another demon rising to power, do you think he'll spare you? Do you think he'll spare the boy? If he's another Yellow-Eyes, you'll both be enlisted. If he's another Orange, you'll both be killed." His eyes darted over the littering of grey feathers that spread around the foot of Sam's bed. "_Whatever_ it takes." He glanced pointedly at Dean.

"So we don't have a choice," Dean said, "because no matter what we do, this thing is eventually coming after Sammy."

"Exactly. We expect you in Cold Water by morning." He spun on his heels and headed back toward the door.

"Hey, Gabe?" Dean called after him. The angel stopped and turned back. "What's with the suit?"

He smiled. "Just thought it was time for a change. Makes me look more mature, don't you think? More in charge." He turned and left.

"He look older to you?" Dean asked, glancing back at his brother as the door closed.

"It doesn't matter how old he is, Dean," the younger man said with an absent flick of his wrist, "we can't trust him. He-"

"Gave me back my wings."

"And look where that got us. He was going to leave you completely alone in the world for all eternity. He's itching for this war to start up."

"But at least we know he's one of the good guys, and as messed-up as his past actions might have been, you have to admit that going to some hick town in Georgia is better than defying the Boss and winding up downstairs."

"We're not even sure he's telling the truth."

Dean nodded. "True, but it's worth checking out, anyway. What have we got to lose?"

* * *

Reviews are love, and I love love.� Besides, I want to see how many people are still interested in this series :) 


	2. Chapter 2

OK. I'm back. Sorry about the delay. State Speech kinda got in the way- and no one on my team won anything :(

Anyway, thanks to the faithful 5 who reviewed. Here's chapter 2!

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Toby Whitfield had started noticing some changes in town. For one, his neighbors had stopped smiling at him as he walked to school in the mornings. They just stared at him like starving dogs would stare at a particularly meaty bone. His classmates had fallen silent. Cars had stopped driving through the town. Planes had stopped flying overhead. Hardly anyone went to church anymore.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and trudged along the sidewalk, whistling to himself. It was a beautiful day in the neighborhood, but Toby hardly noticed. His thoughts were with his family, his adoptive parents who had only recently started acting like everyone else in Cold Water. They had never been too interested in his life before, but now they wanted to know exactly where he was and who he was with at all times.

Two large shadows passed overhead, stretching in the setting sun. Toby ignored them, not even bothering to look up. They had some pretty big crows in those parts, and as long as the birds weren't dive-bombing him, he was fine.

A twig snapped in the bushes off to one side of the sidewalk, and Toby stopped. He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder at whatever was there. A breeze blew, cool in the shade of coming night, but other than the soft rustling of tree limbs, there was no sound.

He went back on his way, hands still in his pockets, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Another branch snapped, closer this time. Toby spun again, faster than before.

He found himself staring into the prettiest blue eyes he'd ever seen.

The girl jumped back startled, and fell flat on her ass on the sidewalk. "I'm sorry," she muttered, picking herself up and hastily brushing dust from her dark skirt, "I- I just… you're Toby, right?"

The boy nodded slowly. "Yeah. And you are…?"

"Lucy," she grinned, holding out a hand, "we go to school together, remember? Chemistry class? Second period?"

"You're stalking me because we have Chem together?" he asked, shaking the proffered hand a little uneasily. Sure, the girl looked familiar, but most of his time in second period Chem was spent spacing out, not paying attention to his classmates.

"I have a question," she said, cocking her head to one side and blinking those wide eyes at him.

"Yes?"

"Do you love your parents?"

Toby swallowed hard. That wasn't what he'd been expecting. "Of course I do."

"Would you do anything for them?"

His blood ran cold. "Yes. Why-?"

"Do you want to see them alive again?" the girl had clasped her hands together behind her back and was rocking back and forth on her feet, smiling wickedly. His breathing shallowed as he watched her eyes turn black as the shadows that were stretching across the pavement under their feet. She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the sidewalk with a strength that he never would have guessed someone of her size to have. It didn't look like he had much of a choice in the matter of viewing his parents.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The house was dark, but the girl- or whatever she was- didn't seem to mind. She drug him through the garage, into the kitchen, and then up to the living room, where two empty chairs sat. Two piles of rope had been laid on the floor in front of the vacant seats, and that didn't seem to be part of Lucy's plan. "Where are they?" she hissed, her voice deeper than a full-grown man's.

"Looking for someone?" a voice that hopefully belonged to a full-grown man inquired. Lucy spun around, never releasing her hold on Toby's hand, her black eyes searching the darkness for the source of the voice.

"Who's there?" she demanded. Her only response was a soft rustling of feathers. "Show yourself!"

Something dropped from the ceiling and onto the girl, shoving Toby roughly out of the way and wrestling her into a chair. Before he'd even had time to register the fact that he had been freed from the creature's grasp, the boy felt strong hands close around his arms. 

He was shoved unceremoniously into one of the waiting chairs. Beside him, Lucy screamed and the smell of burning flesh filled the room, strong enough to make him gag. 

He was being tied up, tied to a chair in the darkness next to a screaming girl, the acrid scent invading his nose, threatening to toss up his lunch. His wrists were secured, his head hung limp, and spots swam before his eyes.

All of that in under a minute.

When the lights finally turned on, Toby discovered that the smell had gotten the best of him. Or maybe he'd fallen back and hit his head when he'd run into Lucy. Whatever the case, he knew that he had to be dreaming. Or dead.

Because angels didn't normally break into your house and tie you to a chair next to…

He'd made the mistake of looking over at Lucy's chair, at what was left of the pretty teen that had threatened his family and forced him into what could only have been a trap. She had _melted_. There was no other word for it, nothing else that could possibly describe the way that her flesh had run from her bone, from her face, had dripped blood and gore onto her dark shirt, had stained her bones. Even _those_ seemed to have eroded.

"What," he gasped, struggling to find his voice and hold onto the last few meals he'd had, "what did you… what did you _do_ to her?"

The two angels- that's what they had to be, what else had _wings_ like that?- stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. "That's what happens," the rougher looking of the two said, "when something like _us_ touches something like _you._ Or didn't you know that?"

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about," Toby said, trying to keep the tears that were rising from seeping into his voice, "who are you?"

"We're the good guys," the other, taller, one said, stepping forward to stand by his companion. His eyes having adjusted to the light in the dim room, Toby could see the intruders clearly.

The taller one had folded his ash-grey wings up close to his body, as if he were afraid that spreading them out farther would result in their loss. His eyes were softer than his friend's, more compassionate than his tone of voice would have led Toby to believe.

The shorter of the two was rougher, his face chiseled, snow white wings flared and stained red at the bottom. It looked like blood, Toby realized, the thought sending the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. The man was practically snarling at him, glaring with cold hazel eyes.

He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and summoned the courage to look back at Lucy. "You _killed_ her."

"We did our homework," the short one said, leaning down until he was eye-to-eye with the boy, "and Lucy Harrison died three weeks ago. She was hit by a car."

Toby shook his head. "She's been in school." Now that he thought about it- and it really was odd that he would be thinking about it in his current situation- he could remember the quiet teen who always sat in the back of the room. He was sure that she hadn't missed any days.

"You got to the doctors," the taller one argued, straightening up to his full (and very imposing) height, a stark contrast to his companion, "to her parents. You were probably driving the car, too. You found a good host, you killed her so she wouldn't fight, and then you covered it up."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the boy insisted, hating the way that his tears felt as they sprung to his eyes, fighting to get let lose, to make his confusion, fear, and frustration known.

"That's a lie," the short one growled, bringing up and hand and slapping it onto Toby's face, his eyes gleaming first with triumph, then confusion. Slowly, he pulled his hand back, staring at the place where it had been. He turned back to his friend. "Uh, Sammy? Can I talk to you?"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Something's wrong," Dean whispered as he pulled his brother into the small kitchen, "he's not possessed."

"You sure?"

"You see any smoke? Hear him scream. Hell, he's not even pulling a Paris Hilton."

Sam blinked. "What?"

"Paris Hilton? _House of Wax_? Ringing a bell?"

"So, you think he's not possessed because he didn't get stabbed through the head by a piece of piping?"

The older man sighed. "I think he's not possessed because he's not showing any of the usual signs-"

"Like Frank showed signs of aversion to salt and holy water?"

"You gotta stop calling him that." Dean said. "Look, I'm just saying that we might be wrong about this kid. Maybe they haven't gotten to him yet."

"We've only been here an hour and we've already exorcised thirteen people, Dean," Sam pointed out, "the town's overrun with these things. They're freakin' _everywhere_. I find it pretty hard to believe that one kid out of an entire town is clean."

"Well, what do you want to do? You want to shoot him and see if he stays dead? Maybe drop him out a seventh storey window and see if he splats? Maybe we should just run him over with a car and see if he gets back up?"

"It just doesn't seem plausible that he's completely 100 per cent human," Sam said, "that's all."

"You looked in a mirror lately, Sammy?" Dean asked, "because we ain't exactly a prime example of humanity, either. Doesn't mean we're evil." The younger man sighed, stealing a glance through the kitchen door and out into the living room where the boy was tied up. "He seems pretty scared."

"It's an act," Sam replied.

"What if it's him? What if he's the one they're after?"

He turned back to his brother. "The psychic kid?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, yeah. I mean, the girl practically yanked him into the house, he didn't even try to fight us off, both his folks were possessed, they had demons in their freakin' _closets_. I'd say it's possible that he's our guy."

Both brothers gazed at the boy tied in the chair. "What are the odds of us finding him so fast?" Sam asked, "it just seems too easy."

"Karma points, Sammy. We save the world, we rack 'em up. It's payback time, that's all."

"We don't even know the kid's name."

"Toby," Dean replied almost instantly. Sam quirked an eyebrow. "Gotta learn to trust the voices in your head, man. Come on, let's see if see if we caught our guy."

The boy raised his head as the brothers entered the room, his eyes wide and untrusting, shining with confusion. "Where are my parents?"

"Relax, kid," Dean said, holding up his open hands in a show of peace, "they're fine. We took 'em out of town and dropped them off in a roadside motel. They're safe."

"And I'm not?"

"Depends," Sam said.

"On what?"

"You," Dean grinned.

The boy rolled his eyes. "Good cop, bad cop?" He tried a laugh that sounded choked and dry. "I'm smarter than a fifth grader, guys. It's not gonna work."

"What's your name, kid?"

He glared at them. "None of your business."

"We just need to know," Dean explained.

"Know what?"

Sam sighed, staring the kid in the eyes. "If you're the one we were sent for."

The boys' reaction was not what either of the brothers had been expecting. Dean had been looking forward to some sort of expression of joy and a full committal to help in whatever way he could. Sam had been expecting wide-eyed denial. In neither scenario was a freak-out part of the bargain.

Toby screamed, his eyes going wide as his skin paled. He started bucking in the chair, the ropes that had been tied around his wrists to hold him in place digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood.

There was a single moment of shock when Sam and Dean simply stared, their eyes nearly as wide as the teen's, and watched him struggle with fascination. Years of hunting and they'd never quite seen anything like it. In all honesty, most people were _happy_ to be saved.

Sam was the first one to fall out of his stupor and take the three steps necessary to reach the captive boy. He knelt down in front of the chair and placed a hand on the boy's head, willing him to calm down. In a matter of seconds, the teen's head had dropped forward against his chest and his breathing had calmed.

"Who's the show-off now?" Dean asked.


	3. Chapter 3

All right. Was kinda hoping for more views/replies on this one. If you know of anyone else who might like the series, feel free to pimp this ficcy!

And for the people who are really observant and were looking out for this one, here's chapter 3! Thanks for sticking with me!

* * *

He'd heard stories on TV of angels of death. They came to take you when it was your time. Apparently, when your time came, they broke into your house, tied you to a chair, melted your classmate, and then tried to get you to relax.

Toby was not going to relax. He was going to kick and scream until somebody decided to save him.

And then the thing had touched him and he'd felt all warm and tingly and tired and then… nothing. 

Toby knew that he was dead. He was no longer tied to a chair, but lying out in his own bed. It was dark outside, but the house lights were on. He could hear movement in the other room, could hear low voices, familiar voices.

He sat up slowly, his mind muddled, stomach queasy, bedroom spinning in sickening circles. As soon as he had gotten himself under control, Toby swung his legs out from under the heavy quilt that someone had draped over his body. 

The teen padded out of his room and down the hallway, his steps slow and calculated, even in death. He knew those voices, but not well enough to identify the speakers.

He crept closer to the kitchen, the source of the noises, and froze when he finally recognized them.

Toby swallowed the lump of fear that had formed in his throat and dared to peek into the brightly lit kitchen at the two angels that had broken into his house. His face scrunched in confusion as he watched them for a moment, trying to place what was different about them through the slight haze that still lingered in his mind.

It took him a moment, but he finally got it. The temperature outside had dropped with the sun, leaving the town and house cooler than they'd been earlier. The intruders had put on their jackets, covering up their wings.

Unless, of course, they'd never had wings. It was possible that Toby had dreamt the whole thing, was still dreaming, and he acknowledged that fact. Holding his breath for fear of being heard, he slipped back around the wall and out of sight, listening to their conversation.

"I'm just saying it's a first," the shorter one said.

"He thought we were here to kill him," the taller one explained and Toby felt his heart rate quicken. That was an oddly specific statement unless-

"You know, this whole 'ooh, look at me, I'm so special and psychic' thing of yours is starting to get annoying, Sammy."

"Now who's the jealous one?" Sam said. Toby blinked, his foggy mind racing. Names. They had names. They'd broken into his house, killed Lucy, tried to kill him, and they had names. It seemed funny that he hadn't thought to ask. Funny enough to elicit a small chuckle, which stopped being funny as the short one's head poked around the corner.

"Well, look who's up." Before Toby had a chance to get away, a strong hand had wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him into the kitchen, leading him effortlessly to one of the wicker chairs by the table and pushing him into it. "Been waiting for you to come around."

Toby looked up at the man as his counterpart- Sam- stalked up beside him and smiled down comfortingly. "Am I… dead?"

They both laughed. "No," Sam said, "you're not. But you might have been. Toby, right?"

He nodded. "Tobias. Toby. Yeah."

"I'm Sam. This is my brother Dean. We're here to help you."

"You don't want to kill me?"

Dean shook his head. "Far from it. We just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Lucy-"

The brothers looked at each other and frowned. "Toby," Sam said, kneeling down to meet the boy's eyes, "you wouldn't happen to have noticed anything weird going on in town lately, would you?"

"Like what?"

"Big black clouds of smoke rushing into peoples' mouths for one," Dean said, "maybe, uh, heads spinning? Pea soup style vomit? Black eyes? People spewing Latin for no apparent reason? Anything?"

Toby tried to laugh, he really did, but it sounded more like a cough. The truth was that he _had_ noticed strange things in the town. Maybe not to the extreme that had been suggested, but it had been there.

"People stopped going to church," he said slowly, "they keep staring at me. A lot of them have lost interest in stuff. Maybe… I _thought_ I saw this boy in my gym class… his eyes looked… _different_, but-"

"I'd give anything not to have to tell you this, kiddo," Dean said, "but you did see it."

"What-?"

"Demon."

This time, he actually did laugh. "You guys are crazy. There's no such thing."

"You question the existence of demons when talking to a couple of guys with wings. Yeah, that's smart. You're a regular Einstein, aren't you?"

Sam elbowed his brother. "Look, we really don't have much time for explanations. It's only a matter of time before they find out that we're here. You need to leave town, Toby."

He shook his head. "Why?"

Dean stepped forward, his face grave, eyes dark. "Because they're after you."

"Me? Why would they want me?"

"You know what I'm thinking?"

"What? No."

"Had anything weird happen to you in the past few months?"

He looked back at the doorway to the kitchen and hung his head. "No."

He could feel Sam's eyes on him and looked up in time to see the tall man nod. "Biokinesis, right?"

"What?" Toby and Dean asked together.

"Biokinesis," Sammy repeated, "you can change anything about yourself just by thinking about it. You used to be a brunette, right?"

Toby blinked. "Well…"

"Those highlights are natural now, aren't they? The girl you've got a crush on likes blonds, but you didn't want to completely take the plunge-"

"How do you-?"

"I know because I'm just like you. I'm psychic. And those things running all over your town, they used to be after me, too."

The teen sighed. "I just wanted to change my teeth. My folks didn't have money for braces, and I hated how crooked my teeth looked, and I concentrated, and they just… straightened. I didn't mean to. Does that make me bad?"

Dean shook his head. "Course not. It just makes you a target."

"But what do they want? I mean, it's not like I can blow up the world or anything."

"No idea. Maybe they want you to fight with them, maybe they want you dead. It doesn't really matter in the long run. What matters is keeping you safe, and that's exactly what we're gonna do."

"What's the plan?"

"Get you out of town," Sam said, "tomorrow. First light."

Toby nodded. "Yeah, sure, ok."

o0o0o0o0o0o

"He's taking this pretty well," Dean whispered, turning from the sleeping teen's bedroom to his brother.

"He thinks it's a dream," Sam said, "that's the only way any of this could possibly be happening."

"Well, he's in for a rude awakening."


	4. Chapter 4

All righty. Chapter 4. The first with an evil cliffie (My specialty). Please enjoy! 

* * *

The teenager wouldn't stop shaking, rocking slowly back and forth in the big easy chair, staring up at the brothers with wide eyes. "It wasn't a dream?" he repeated for what had to be the fiftieth time.

Dean sighed, running his fingers through his hair and looking at Sam for help. They had woken the kid up early, hoping to leave before their presence in the town was discovered. Toby had had other plans, which involved him slamming his bedroom door and refusing to come out until said door was ripped off the hinges with a shout of "Kid, get your _ass_ out here!"

That had elicited a wide-eyed stare from Toby, and a slap across the back of Dean's head from Sam. It had worked, though. They'd managed to get Toby out of his room and into the living room… where they'd stayed, unfortunately.

"No," the older man snapped, "for the hundredth time, it wasn't a dream. Now, can we please leave this demonic infestation of a town?"

Toby turned his green saucer-pan eyes up to the brothers. "Demonic?"

"What part of 'it wasn't a freaking' dream' don't you understand, kid? We need to go."

"Demons are real?"

Dean turned to Sam. "Freakin' genius here."

"Toby," Sam said softly, pushing past his brother to stand directly in front of the teenager, "you're in danger. We all are. We need to get you out of here. We understand that this is a lot to put on you, but we really need you to help us out here."

Toby blinked, shook his head, and looked around the kitchen. "There's a name for what I can do?" he asked, his voice slightly less spacey than it had been a moment before. "And those things… demons...they want me?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. We need to get you out of here."

Toby matched his nod and slowly got to his shaky feet. "Yeah, ok." He stood, his shoulders slumping. "Man, my life is weird."

"Join the club," Dean quipped, turning to the door. He peeked his head out into the yard, eyes scanning the empty street for any signs of danger. He looked back into the house. "Clear. Let's go."

Dean led the way out into the abandoned neighborhood, with Toby and Sam following close behind. Their shoes crunched over rough sand and gravel that had been left over from the only snow that Toby had seen while living in the state as they made their way toward the edge of town. Dean stopped as he caught sight of the sign thanking visitors for their time and wishing them a safe return to wherever it was they were headed next.

Toby slammed into him. "What's the hold up?" 

"We're in Georgia, right?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. So?"

"So, there aren't typically deserts here, right?" He turned raising an eyebrow at his companions.

"No," Toby said, "there aren't deserts in Georgia. Why?"

Sighing, Dean stepped aside to allow for a better view of what lay past the town limits. Lightning forked across the sky and a coarse wind blew, stirring up sand and dust. The sky past the sign had turned a disturbing shade of crimson, with dark clouds billowing off in the distance.

"What the Hell?" Sam asked, stepping up to the place where grass and road met desert sand. He reached out a tentative hand, passing it through whatever invisible barrier was keeping the strong winds out of the town. He pulled it back with a hiss almost immediately, cradling it to his body. 

"What the Hell?" he asked again, inspecting his hand. It was blistered and scarred up to the wrist, turned an angry mixture of red and black that resembled the sky.

"I think they know we're here," Dean offered.

"No, really?" Sam scoffed, clutching weakly at his injured hand until it had started to glow.

"What are we gonna do?" Toby asked, unable to keep his eyes off the taller man as Sam flexed his newly-healed hand.

"We're gonna find another way out," Dean said. "We split up. You and I can search from the ground, Sammy'll take to the sky. Sound good?" Sam and Toby both nodded. "Right. Call if you find anything."

Sam nodded again, slipping out of his jacket and tying it around his waist, eliciting a cocked eyebrow from his brother. "What if I need my hands?"

"I didn't say anything," Dean muttered, trying to hide a grin. With a flap of his wings, Sam took off. "So," the older man said, turning to Toby, "looks like it's just you and me."

Toby was staring off into the sky, his eyes following Sam shrinking form. "That is so cool. You can, like, fly?"

"No," Dean said, turning his back on the barrier between Cold Water and whatever was now lying beyond it, "the wings are just for show."

"What else can you do?"

"Tell you to shut your face," he replied, heading back into town.

Toby stared at him, jogging to keep up. "No, I mean-"

"It's none of your business, all right?"

"Sam can read minds."

Dean sighed. "Not really. It used to be stronger, before..."

"He died?"

"No. It's a long story, kid."

"We have time" Toby grinned, "come on, you tell me your story, I'll tell you mine."

"What if I don't care about yours?"

"Please."

"I knew there was a reason I hated teenagers," Dean muttered, running a hand over his face. "Fine. Yeah, Sam catches little snippets of thought. Happy now?"

"What else can you do?"

"_I_ can't."

Toby blinked. "What, read minds?"

"Exactly. I get… feelings. Sam does, too, only he gets 'em stronger. Kid always was a bleeding heart."

"An empath?"

Dean stopped and looked down at the teen. "Yeah. How'd you now that?"

Toby shrugged. "I did some research after I started, you know, doing my thing."

The angel nodded and started walking again. "Yeah. Empathy. Flight. Super-human strength, healing." He grinned, "immortality. We got it all, and then some."

"Like what?"

"Sammy got the emotional end of the spectrum," Dean explained, "he's not as strong, but he's got the whole telepathy-thing going for him. And he can do this thing… put people into trances. Dunno how else to explain it."

Toby nodded. "Like he did with me yesterday."

"Exactly."

"And what can you do?"

Dean smirked. "Me? I'm a fighter, not a lover."

"Meaning-?"

"Meaning I can kick some serious ass if I put my mind to it. We're talking flaming weaponry, amped-up strength, and I'm an accomplished polyglot." The kid raised an eyebrow. "I talk good in lots of languages."

"Your brother taught you that word, didn't he?"

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets. "Is it that obvious?"

"Kind of."

They walked in silence for a moment, listening to the crunching of gravel under their feet, the slight breeze through the trees, and the eerie calm that came with the absence of any life forms other than themselves.

"So," Dean finally said, "what about you? Shape-shifter, right?"

Toby shook his head. "No. It's hard to explain. I just think about changing something, and it changes."

"How is that not-?"

"The change takes place on a molecular level. It's written into my DNA."

"Think you could do it to other people, too?"

Toby shrugged. "Why? Tired of being the short one?"

"I'm not short. We've got an arrangement. He's the tall one, I'm the cute one. Nobody's short."

"Whatever, man. I'm not sure I could do it. I don't exactly get much practice in, you know? It's not easy being a freak."

"You're not a freak."

"Not compared to you, maybe. I mean, anyone who's not a genetic hybrid looks normal next to you."

Dean cracked a grin. "True."

Toby stopped in the middle of the road, staring at the angel with wide eyes. "That's it, isn't it? You want to get rid of them."

The older man turned back to look at him. "What?"

"It makes sense. To have to live your life like some kind of freak… an _immortal_ freak. You can't get close to anyone, can't have any friends," he watched as Dean started to squirm, "that's it, isn't it? You want to get rid of them. You want to be mortal."

"It's not that bad," Dean defended, "I've got Sam."

"It's like a curse," the boy argued, "how old are you?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"When were you born?"

"'79, but that-"

"23?" Toby asked, "man, that's not too bad."

Dean shook his head. "Way off kid."

"Well, were you alive when they came out with those first clunky video phones?"

"Dude, I was alive when they came out with the first iPhones."

Toby's eyes widened. "Seriously? What about computers. What were those-?"

"Laptops were only as thin as envelopes."

"World War Three?"

"Start and finish."

"Tom Cruise's outting?"

"They teach that in schools these days?"

Toby shrugged. "I'm a history buff."

"Yeah, I was there. And I told Sam so."

"9/11?"

Dean nodded. "Yep. I was still, you know, technically alive for that one."

The boy's eyes went wide. "That's impossible. That was 2001. That means that you're…"

The angel grinned. "Getting close. Don't look it, though, do I?"

"Nope," Toby muttered, shaking his head as a large shadow flew overhead. "Wow."

Sam dropped to the ground in front of them, frowning and shaking his head. "Nothing," he reported, "it's like they drew a circle around the town and everything outside is just… no man's land. We're trapped, unless you want to risk going out in that."

"If it was just us," Dean said, "I might. But it's not, so we're stuck." He looked down at Toby. "What do you say, kid? Can we crash at your place until we figure out what to do?"

"If you-" Toby began, but his reply was cut short by the loud report of a gunshot and the soft thump of Dean's body hitting the ground.


	5. Chapter 5

Seems like everytime I lot on the document manager is just a little different.

Anyway, Happy Easter to all who celebrate (and Happy Jesus' Rebirth Day to those who don't ;)). I have a quick question: is anyone reading this planning on going to WinchestMidwest this June? If you are, I might see you there!

Now on to chapter 5:

* * *

Toby screamed. It was all he could think to do as he stared with shocked eyes at the body that lay at his feet. He screamed as Sam grabbed the body and hefted it over his own shoulder, as the angel curled strong fingers around his wrist and started dragging the boy off toward Meadow Woods. He even screamed as he caught sight of the shooter, screamed louder because he knew her, knew her son, had spent time at her house.

They were in the lightly wooded area in an instant, dodging trees and racing through brambles as footsteps crashed through the brush behind them and orders were shouted. He glanced up at Sam in time to see Dean's eyes snap open, to watch as the older man slid off his brother's shoulder and touched down on the path.

Sam let go of Toby's wrist and, with a quick glance at Dean, flared his wings and disappeared into the tiny patch of sky visible through the trees. A vice gripped around the boy's hand, pulling him off to the side of the winding path and behind a large felled trunk. Dean's other hand closed over his mouth.

"You want those things to catch us, you just keep screaming, kid," he cautioned, pulling Toby close to his body as he backed up against the dead tree.

The boy took a deep breath and worked to silence himself. Mrs. Wimmer from down the street had shot somebody. Mrs. Wimmer from down the street had shot an angel. Mrs. Wimmer from down the street was probably headed straight to Hell for that.

And then he felt the blood, warm and sticky, seeping through his shirt, staining his back. Blood from a tiny hole made by a bullet that should have killed his newly-appointed guardian.

Another scream bubbled to the surface. Dean must have sensed it rising within the teen's throat, as the hand over Toby's mouth clamped down tighter. "Do it and we'll both die," the angel hissed as harried footsteps approached.

Mrs. Wimmer appeared suddenly, looking through the trees at the other end of the forest. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," she cooed. She started to turn toward them, her eyes roving the brushline, nearly there, almost catching them, when Sam dropped out of the sky directly behind her.

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder just as she caught sight of the teenager and the angel hiding in the brush. Her eyes slide slowly shut and her knees buckled, sending her down to the forest floor.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Wilhelmina Wimmer was not the sort of person, according to Toby, that would be known to carry a firearm. Dean, however, had a bullet hole in his chest that proved the kid wrong. He watched with mild interest as the woman opened her eyes and looked around, obviously recognizing the house, as confusion was slow to bubble to the surface of her dark brown eyes.

She searched the room slowly, still a little loopy from Sam's magic fingers, her eyes steadily widening as everything came back to her. As soon as she'd caught sight of the three amigos standing and staring at her, she'd hit full-on panic mode.

Taking that as his cue, Sam stepped forward and reached out toward the woman, who pulled back as far as the chair they'd tied her to would allow. He lightly touched her shoulder, smiling and assuring her that everything would be all right. Her terrified shrieks stopped immediately.

"You are getting freakishly good at that," Dean muttered, stepping forward to join his brother in their inspection of their latest captive. He turned back to Toby. "What did you say her name was again?"

"Mrs. Wimmer," the teen replied, "Mina Wimmer."

"Mina," the angel said softly, attracting her attention, "hi. We're not gonna hurt you."

She snorted, the sound coming slowly from the back of her throat as her eyes threatened to close again. "I'm not stupid," she slurred, "you're with _them_."

"Who?" Sam asked.

She turned tired eyes toward him. "The things. The things with the black eyes. You're just like everyone else. Everyone but us."

"Who's us?"

She squinted up at him. "Nuh-uh. No way I'm telling you."

"It's really important, Mrs. Wimmer," Toby attempted, but the woman just shook her head.

"Look, lady," Dean butted in, "if we were evil, do you really think we'd look like this?"

Glassy eyes widened as realization cut through whatever fog Sam had sent her wandering mentally into. "Oh, my-"

"Tell us what you know."

She nodded, finally coming back to her senses, her words losing their mushy quality as she spoke. "About a week ago," she explained, eyes still roving over the two winged strangers, "people in town started acting strange. Too perfect. Like they were acting. Then people started dying. People started killing other people. A few of the saner neighbors gathered together and moved."

"Where'd you move to?" Sam asked.

"Underground. We've been staying in the sewers for about three days now. We come out to try and pick up any other survivors-"

"Survivors?"

"Well, what would you call them?"

"Call 'em possessed," Dean muttered. "Now, anyway."

She turned now-sharp eyes one him. "There's no such thing as demons."

"Or angels," the hunter supplied, "which means you must be hallucinating."

Her eyes narrowed. "What would a bunch of demons want with us?"

"Me," Toby said, stepping forward, "they want me."

Mina's head turned quickly toward the boy. "Toby? Why? What could they want with you?"

"It doesn't matter why they want him," Dean said, saving the kid any lengthy explanations, "what does matter is that they're here. And so are we. You saw the town limits, right? We're stuck here."

"What are we gonna do?"

"We're not gonna hide in a sewer." She scowled at him. "Look, Sam and I have blessed the house. Nothing bad can get in. I'm thinking we can head underground, round up your little posse, and bring 'em back here before something happens."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Keep the survivors safe until we can figure something out." He began untying to woman's wrists from the chair. "Can you take us to them?"

"Of course I can," Mina said, "but it might be dangerous getting there without being followed."

"Trust me," Dean muttered looking out the window at the abandoned town, "they probably already know exactly where you are."

o0o0o0o0o

Sam and Dean dropped effortlessly into the sewer and scanned the darkened tunnels as Toby clamored down the ladder behind them. "I hate you," he muttered as the smell of rank sewage filled his nostrils. "This had better not take long."

Mina crawled in after him, showing no sign of disgust at the stench. "Relax," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder, "they'll be waiting for me."

She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, a sound which filled up the tight and smelly tunnel, bouncing off the walls, rising to a horrendous pitch as it echoed.

"And you guys didn't think that one of those things might sneak down here, call you all out, and then systematically kill you?" Dean asked as soon as his ears had stopped ringing.

"We didn't know what they were," Mina said. "It was like monsters out of some post-apocalyptic film."

The brothers glanced at each other. "Yeah," Dean said, "um, don't those usually hang out in the sewers?"

The woman glared at him as lights began bouncing off the scummy water and more people appeared, peering around the old stone walls to get a better look at the intruders. "It's ok," Mina said, raising her hands, "I'm back. I found more survivors."

"Who are they?" a female voice asked, shining a light directly into Dean's face.

"Toby Whitfield and some friends," she said. "They say they can help."

"What could they do?" another voice called out as the group gathered closer.

Mina turned to look back at the brothers, questioning with her eyes. They both shrugged. "It's going to sound crazy," she said, "but they're angels."

Dean had thought the sound of the whistle echoing off of the sewer walls had been bad, but it was nothing compared to the harsh sound of laughter. "She's serious," he offered, wiggling out of his jacket and spreading his wings into the beams of the flashlights, "and we've got a safe house set up. The doors and windows were blessed last night. Nothing's getting in."

"We're not leaving," someone called out, "we've been safe here so far."

"Did you see what those things did?" Sam asked, stepping forward to address the shadowy crowd, "you're not safe here. They're bound to know where you're hiding, and it's only a matter of time before they show up to kill you all. Or worse. Come with us and you at least stand a chance."

The bodies shifted in the darkness, the people all looked at their companions. It was clear by the muttered conversations that they had noticed the latest change in their town's geography and feared it, trusted the angel's words.

"All right," a male voice said as a man walked from the shadows and into the light cast by the removed manhole cover. "If you think we'd be better off there than here, we'll go."

Dean nodded, turning to Sam. "I swear, man, nobody's shocked by the sight of guys with wings anymore."

"Under other circumstances," the man said, turning his flashlight off and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans, "we might be. Things have changed in Cold Water. Nothing seems impossible anymore."

Sam nodded in agreement. "All right. Let's get out of here." He stepped aside, letting the man pass him in the way to the ladder out, when somebody screamed.

Dean was the first to recognize the voice as that of the first person to speak, a young-sounding girl. Her shout was muffled by something, and as he turned to investigate the noise, he saw what that something was. A cloud of oily black smoke was forcing its way down the girl's throat.

All along the length of the sewer line, flashlights were dropped, hitting the murky water with an audible splash as their owners were possessed. "Run," he shouted, scaring the few remaining survivors from the shock of being found. He jumped back, giving them a clear shot to the ladder, before turning and giving Mina a look that clearly informed her that he'd told her so.

In the darkness of the tunnel, the fallen survivors began to get back up. The few who had managed to escape possession backed slowly toward the ladder. A few turned around as the tunnel was illuminated by a flash of light and gasped. Angels, they could take. Flaming weaponry, not so much.

Dean elbowed his brother. "Take Toby and the others to the house. Make sure they get there."

"And what are you gonna do?" Sam demanded.

The older man smirked. "I'm gonna hold 'em off."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but apparently thought better of it. He grabbed Toby's arm and ushered the boy to the ladder. He glanced over his shoulder as the boy climbed out of the sewer. "Just come back," he said before leaving his brother alone.

Dean turned toward the demons and smiled. "Who wants a piece of me?"


	6. Chapter 6

Hope everyone had a happy Easter holiday. School starts back up for me again tomorrow (it would have started today- we don't really get a Spring Break- but it was a Teacher-In-Service day. Yeah, I'm bitter). So, please enjoy the chapter.

* * *

He opened his eyes, head spinning, to find himself shackled to a wall. Huh. That hadn't happened in a while. He scanned the room for signs of a threat, and, finding only a set of disgusting pink kitty-cat plates, let himself relax.

He looked up at the place where his hands had been tied, manacled to the wall. Anything was better than being nailed there, he supposed, but still…

And then it all came back to him. The demons had rushed him, guns drawn, knives held high, and he had waited for them, waited until… well, until he'd been hit over the head, apparently. Or stabbed in the back.

Yeah, that would explain the twinge back there and the pool of blood at his feet.

A door squeaked open and Dean's body tensed, ready for the showdown, for the punishment, for the annoyingly long exposition, complete with whys and hows. What he wasn't ready for was what walked into the room.

The girl looked to be about eighteen, with short blonde hair and dull grey eyes. Her face was freckled with acne and he noticed a small mole on the side of her nose. She might have been pretty, given time and cosmetic surgery, maybe a little growth spurt.

And then she smiled, revealing teeth that her parents had obviously paid good money for, her eyes turning black behind the thin wire-rimmed glasses. "Hello, Dean," she cooed, her voice awfully childish for a girl who looked her age, "long time, no see."

He cocked an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"Of course, silly," she giggled, her smile widening. "Here, let me refresh your memory." She cocked her head to one side, an action that, given the boyish shortness of the blonde's hair, almost reminded him of Sammy. And then his world went up in flames.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean gasped, pulling charred flakes of his own skin into his lungs, starting in on a coughing fit. "Oh," he said once the rasping noises had stopped, "_Holly_."

The smile was back on her stolen lips, lighting up a face that wasn't hers as she stepped forward and ran both of the girl's hands down the burnt remains of his chest, her skin smoking with the action. "See," she said, watching as blackened flakes of skin fell to the floor to land on the dried and cracked pool of blood, "I knew you'd remember."

"What brings you up here?" he asked, hating the way his voice sounded, wanting nothing more than to rip his hands from the metal shackles and throttle her for doing this to him again.

"Direct orders," the psychic-turned-demon said sadly.

"Thought your daddy was dead," the angel rasped.

Anger flashed across the girl's face. "He is. Thanks to you and your eternally annoying brother. But that doesn't matter anymore. I'm getting my orders from higher up."

"Wouldn't that be lower down?"

"Funny, Dean," she sneered, "I'm gonna miss that about you."

Dean shook his head, sending more blackened skin tumbling from his body and onto the caked blood at his feet. "And you think I'm the forgetful one. You can't kill me, Hols. Nothing can."

"Not true. See, I know about what happened at that gorge. What Sammy had to do to get initiated. Or, what he _would_ have had to do. I know what my uncle did to your brother, what you almost did to yourself. I know how to kill you, Dean. And so does my boss."

"Your boss?"

She nodded. "My boss. The antithesis of your boss."

"Ooh, big word."

Holly shrugged. "What can I say? The host's a brainiac. Probably why she lasted so long."

"Speaking of hosts," Dean said, "what happened to you?"

"This is what happens when you sell your soul, Deanster," she smiled, "when you give everything to join. Daddy didn't warn us. This is what happens," she whispered, leaning closer to his broken body, "when you're touched," she tapped his nose with her index finger, giggling as it crumbled under her touch, "by evil." Her smile widened.

"Good thing I've already earned my wings, then, huh?"

Holly backed up, still smiling, showing off orthodontically-perfect pearly whites. "Don't be so sure." She strolled back out of the room, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts.

He licked his lips, spitting out the loose flakes of skin that stuck to his dry tongue. He had to admit that things were looking bad. He was trapped, alone, in an unknown house with a centuries-old psychotic psychic who had once literally stolen his heart.

He hung his head. That was totally not something he was looking to relive. Not that he would necessarily be alive through the whole thing. No, Holly had definitely given off that creepy, evil, I-know-how-to-kill-you-so-ha-ha vibe.

Yeah, not looking good.

Holly strolled back into the room, carving knife in hand, still smiling that thousand-dollar smile of here. "My boss will be here soon," she informed him, "until then, he's given me free reign. Guess what we're gonna do?"

Dean tried to shrug, but wasn't quite sure that the action was recognizable with his hands tied above his head. "Play tic-tac-toe?"

"You wish."

"I wanna know why," he blurted as she came at him with the knife.

"What?"

"Why. I want to know why you're doing this. Why you marked Toby."

The grin turned sinister. "This was never about the boy, Dean. It was always about you."

His eyes widened as she stepped forward and the knife pierced burnt flesh, charred flesh, fragile flesh. He felt it dig in to his chest, felt her twist it, and then felt nothing as the tip of the blade poked his heart and fresh blood spilled to the floor.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Nothing. No demons. No random people running out of houses waving shotguns. It was too quiet for Sam's liking as he led the small band of survivors from the sewer and towards Toby's house.

"What about your brother?" the psychic asked.

"He can take care of himself," Sam muttered. The truth was, Dean had been outnumbered. By at least twenty-to-one. Those were bad odds, even for them. "Look, Toby," he said, glancing down at the teen, "when we get to your place, I need you to take everybody inside and stay there. Stay together. You'll be safe."

"Where'll you be?"

"I'll be looking for Dean."

Toby nodded, glancing back at their rag-tag little group. He stopped walking as his eyes caught a glimpse of something in the distance, something coming up fast. "Uh, Sam?"

The angel stopped and turned, looking back down the street. A man wearing a business suit was running down the street toward them, waving and yelling for them to stop. The humans drew their guns.

"Hold up," Sammy advised, holding out a hand toward them. "He's with me."

The group waited in the middle of the street as Gabe jogged up. "Don't go back to the house," the blond said as he finally caught up with them, "it's been compromised."

"How?"

The older angel shook his head. "I don't know. That's not the point, though. The point is that by going there you're sending these people into a trap." He looked around. "Where's your brother?"

"These people were hiding in the sewer and he… wait, how'd you get here?"

"Flew in late last night," Gabe said, "Boss thought you'd need reinforcements."

"He was right," Sam said. "Dean stayed behind to fight them off, but there had to have been twenty of them down there. What are we gonna-?"

"You're gonna go help your brother," Gabe instructed, "I'll take these guys."

"Where?" Toby asked.

The angel smiled. "The local cemetery. It's hallowed ground. Demons can't enter."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about? I've seen demons in graveyards before."

"Correction: it's hallowed ground since I blessed the gate. Happy now, Sam?"

Toby looked up at the younger angel with nervous eyes. "Don't worry." Sam assured, "he's one of the good guys."

Gabe nodded. "One of the best. So, come on, we'll get you there safely." He turned to Sam, his face grave. "Go get your brother. Bring him to the cemetery. It's just inside the woods on the edge of town."

Sam turned to leave, but thought better of it at the last minute. "Hey, Gabe?"

"Yeah?"

"How are we gonna get out of this?"

"Don't worry," the older man advised, "we've got a plan. Just get your brother and bring him to the cemetery. And hurry."

Sam nodded, pulling off his jacket and tossing it to the ground, and took off.


	7. Chapter 7

All right. Long chapter, and I'm going back to my roots. Holly and torture... and the twsit of the century...(laughs evilly)

* * *

It was lying on the floor, mocking him, reminding him of what he'd lost, what he'd gained. Immortality, death, loss, life all sitting there in one red, bloody package. "This is really getting old," Dean muttered as he turned his eyes from his still heart to the girl who had stolen it.

"For you, maybe," Holly grinned, "but for me? Never. I thought we'd start by reminiscing, then maybe move on to something new and interesting. Tell me, Dean, have you ever had your teeth ripped out of your mouth, one by one?"

"Been there," the angel sighed, "done that."

"How about this," she said, sidling up to stand right in front of him, mere inches from his hanging, burnt, and maimed body, "I'm gonna chop you up. Chop you into such little pieces that Sam never finds all of you. You're gonna live like that until the boss comes and ends your misery. And even then, he might decide to let you live. Better torture and all that."

"You think that someone who's lived as long as I have hasn't faced that threat?" Dean asked. "You don't scare me."

She shook her head, short blonde locks flying with the action. "That's too bad, because you should be scared." She glanced out the near-by window, toward the setting sun. "What's taking so long?"

"Maybe I'm just not as hot a commodity as you thought."

"Not a chance," she sneered, turning and walking from the room. She slammed the door behind her, once again leaving Dean alone. He looked back up at his hands, cracked and blackened, but still held fast by the metal restraints. He smirked.

The bitch had underestimated him. Sure, in their first encounter steel links had easily held him, but that was then and this was now. He'd spent time getting used to the abilities he'd been given.

He pulled his hands down, sending a shower of brunt flesh down to the floor. The chain holding the manacles to the wall snapped, and from there it was easy enough to get the restraints from his wrists.

He stood on shaky feet, feet that shouldn't have been able to support his broken body, and looked toward the door. The knob started to wiggle.

Without thinking, Dean flicked his wrist, summoning whatever force it was that ran through his veins toward his hands. Fire shot from his fisted fingers, a pole of light that had slain many an adversary since he'd first stumbled across the ability.

The door opened and Holly returned, hands on her hips, stolen face scrunched in displeasure. "Well, I-" She saw that Dean had been freed and stopped in her tracks. "Clever boy."

He held his weapon out in front of his body, turning the sword so that it sat horizontally. "Not clever. Just ripped."

She shook her head, clicking her tongue at him. "Someone has a high opinion of himself."

Dean took a step toward her. "Let's just cut to the chase, huh? I kill you, beat tail outta here, and save the freakin' world. Sound good?"

Holly smirked. "You know, it's cute how your kind thinks you can win. You have no idea what we've got planned, the things that we can do to you all, to this world. Take a look around you, Dean. You're losing the battle."

"But we're winning the war."

"Dean," she chuckled, shaking her head and him, "sweetie. The war hasn't even _started_ yet." He opened his mouth to reply, but was only able to utter a scream as bright pain ripped down his back, sending him to his knees as she watched, head cocked to one side, with mirth. "And when it does, it's not like you'll be able to do anything about it."

He looked up as the pain receded, noting the glint in her eyes, the way that the dying reflection of the flames seemed to linger in the soulless darkness. "That's where you're wrong," he said, "because you things always do this. You underestimate. Your daddy did. Your uncle did. And your boss will, too. It's like an inherent trait with you things."

She stepped toward him and he stepped away, now circling each other in the small room, her eyes sparkling with manic delight, his fingers closed tightly around his only weapon. "That's where you're wrong. See, we're smarter than you all think. My boss has been planning this since the day you were born, Dean."

"Long time to plan. Threw him for a loop in the middle, didn't I?"

Holly shook her head. "No. He expected this. He _planned_ on this. Dean, you and Sammy fell right into our trap."

He narrowed his eyes, half expecting something to come crashing through the door to seal his fate, but nothing did. The room was silent, filled with the tension that always accompanies battles, filled with the fires of good and evil, right and wrong, a war waiting to be won.

"You're part of this," she said softly, "whether you want to be or not."

He lunged at her, fully intent upon lopping off her head, but she stepped to the side at the last minute, reaching out and grabbing the flap of burnt skin that she had cut through to get to his heart. Pain stung his side as she ripped it off, exposing his ribs and the gaping hole she'd hacked into the in order to get to her prize.

Dean pulled back, reaching around with his free hand to grab her arm. She screeched as smoke wafted into the air and her flesh liquefied under his touch. She jerked away, murder in her eyes, and he was thrown against the wall by a burst of heat. He slid to the floor, eyes closed against the onslaught of fire that never seemed to come. She was roasting him alive, baking him, hardening his exposed innards, crisping him.

He risked opening his eyes, felt them dry out instantly, felt them shrivel inside his skull. He'd had enough time to find her location, though, and that was all he'd needed. He tossed his sword in her direction and the heat stopped rushing at his broken body. Holly's host hit the ground with a soft thump.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Pain. Suffering. Dean. He knew it with every fiber of his being. His brother was in that house. Sam pushed the front door open, not at all surprised to find it unlocked. Most likely, the whole thing was a trap intended for him. Gabe had been right when he'd dished out their latest assignment: there was a new demon, and if it wanted psychics, it would be after him.

He crept into the house, eyes and ears alert for anything off. The acrid smell of burnt flesh filled the house, emanating from a room down at the end of the hall. That was the source of the pain, it had to be. Slowly, he followed the aroma and emotion.

He toed the door open, peeking inside. From his position, he could see a young girl lying on the floor, a clean hole sliced through her chest, burnt through her heart. He opened the door farther to see that a section of flesh on her arm had been completely melted off, down to the bone.

His brother was there. Had to be. "Dean?" he whispered. A soft moan was his only reply. "You alone?"

"Is she dead?" Sam cringed at the sound of his brother's voice. It was hoarse, raspy, and too soft for comfort.

"The girl?" he asked, no longer whispering. "Yeah. Yeah, she's gone." He pushed the door all the way open and gasped. Dean was sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out awkwardly in front of him, hands lying limp at his sides, head resting against the wall behind him. His body, which had been blackened inside and out by fire, contrasted painfully with his wings, which spread out behind him as he sat.

Sam wasted no time in getting to his brother, kneeling at the older man's side. "Dean?"

"'S ok, Sammy," Dean muttered, turning empty sockets to him, "doesn't even hurt."

"Oh, God-"

"Has nothing to do with this," Dean finished. "It was Holly. She came back. Demon now. Sold her soul at initiation. Went to Hell, turned into one of those things." He scrunched up his face in confusion, sending a mass of burnt skin cascading to the floor. "Little help, here, Sammy?"

Sam jumped, startled. He hadn't realized that he'd been staring at his brother, at the gaping hole in his chest. "She did it again, didn't she?"

Dean shrugged, wincing as his skin pulled taut against his bones. "What can I say? Chick had an MO." Sam nodded, looking back to the dead girl, his eyes catching sight of something that lay on the floor directly behind her. Curious, he stood up and went to investigate. "I did kill her, right?" Dean asked.

Sammy glanced back at the corpse. "Straight through the heart."

Dean nodded. "Good. Wasn't sure. Couldn't exactly, you know, _see_ her." He sighed. "Man, this town's gonna have some major rebuilding to do once we make it out of here."

Sam just muttered his agreement, stooping down to look at whatever had fallen on the floor during the fight. It was a human heart, still and cold, stuck full of holes, nearly ripped apart and unrecognizable. "Dude, you are so lucky you can't die."

"Luck is in the eye of the beholder," Dean rasped, trying on a smirk that split his lips.

Sam reached out a tentative hand and picked up his brother's heart, turning to look back at the older man. "Our lives are weird." He walked back to the wall where his brother sat, kneeling beside him, and began the laborious process of making the older man whole again.

"We need to be careful," Dean said suddenly as soon as Sam had finished closing the gaping hole in his chest.

"Why?"

"Holly said she was under new control. Her boss is in town. He's looking to start something."

Sam sighed. "Man, I hate demons."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"So let me get this straight," Dean said as he walked briskly down the street, rubbing at his eyes, happy to have them back, "Gabe just randomly pops up and offers to take Toby so you can come save my immortal ass? That seem weird to you?"

Sammy shrugged. "It's Gabe, Dean, he's seemed weird since we met him. Not to mention the fact that he has a knack for popping up randomly at the most convenient times."

"Or inconvenient."

"He's one of the good guys. One of us. Remember? Big, fluffy white wings."

"I just get a weird vibe," Dean said, "that's all. Whenever he's around, I dunno, it just seems like something's different. You know? Like he's not what he seems."

Sam shot his brother a quick sideways glance before turning his eyes back toward the woods. "Angel, Dean. Archangel, actually."

Dean stopped. "Nuh-uh."

"Yuh-huh. Didn't you ever think about what 'Gabe' is short for?"

The older man blinked, once-more perfect face scrunching in confusion. "Gabriel?"

"Bingo."

"So," Dean said, picking up the pace as they headed toward the woods and the cemetery that lay nestled inside them, "all those years ago, in that cabin, I told off… the archangel Gabriel?"

Sam nodded. "Pretty much, yeah."

"I am so going to Hell."

The younger man snorted. "Yeah, ok, Dean. Sure. God's gonna send His precious warrior to Hell."

"Someone's gotta thin the troops."

"Very funny," Sam muttered as they finally reached the woods and stepped into a tangled mess of trees and brush.

"I wasn't joking. You piss off the wrong people up there, and they'll-"

"What? Give you wings? Because that's what they've done. _Both_ of them."

"Technically," Dean clarified, "Gabe was just a messenger."

Sam shook his head. "You're impossible, you know that?"

Dean just grinned in response. "No. I'm just being realistic. Me, they can do without. You're the one everyone likes. Why else would you be here, with me, in the woods?"

"Because you're the favorite," Sam argued, "I know we've had this conversation. I'm here because of you. I got sent back because of you. It's all because of you."

"Somebody's jealous," Dean smirked.

Sam narrowed his eyes as he spotted the first clustering of tombstones and an old wrought iron gate looming out of the trees. "I'm not jealous. Just nice enough to beg to come back and save your ass on a daily basis, starting with Day One: Dean Commits Suicide."

"Your vision."

"Your sick masochistic way of dealing with emotional pain."

"Touché."

Sam responded with a glare as the brothers broke the cover of the trees and gazed in to the cemetery. The gate had been bent and broken, the bars snapped in several places. Slowly, they entered the supposedly safe haven.

The hair on the back of Dean's neck stood on end as he looked around. One glance at Sam told him that the other man was feeling whatever was running through the cemetery as well, but to a greater degree. His eyes were wide, roaming. They stopped and Dean followed his gaze.

Blood had been splattered onto the tombstones, staining the granite. It was still fresh, dripping. Behind them, the cemetery gate banged shut. Both brothers turned to see the fence surrounded by townspeople, all with black eyes and fierce expressions. Sam gasped.

"Dean," he whispered urgently, tugging on his brother's shirt sleeve, "I know those people."

"Of course you do," Dean muttered, "they attacked us today."

"No. Dean, I _saved _them." He pointed towards the few that were standing guard in front of the gate. "Them, right there, I was leading them back to Toby's when Gabe showed up." He turned wide eyes toward his brother. "You don't think?"

Dean nudged his brother's arm, nodding back toward the center of the cemetery. "Come on." They started walking, keeping their eyes open for any signs of a demonic threat. The only thing that they could see was the ring of demons surrounding the gate, trapping them inside.

"Toby?" Sam called, "Gabe?"

Dean stopped, throwing a hand out to halt his brother. His eyes stared straight ahead, at an old mausoleum. Sam turned to see what he was looking at and gasped. Blood ran down the whitewashed stone in tiny rivers, pooling on the ground beneath the tomb. Two sets of eyes followed the path back up to its source.

"Toby," Dean whispered as he finally found the teen's twisted, mangled body.

Sam swallowed hard. "But I left him with…" Their eyes traveled up over the teen's tattered remains, up expertly shined shoes, dark dress pants, and a perfectly pressed suit jacket to the face of the figure that loomed threateningly over the dead boy. "Gabe."


	8. Chapter 8

Aha! The reveal! The whole reason that I wrote this story is contained within this chapter, so please review and tell me what you think... :D

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"What the _Hell_, dude?" Dean shouted as soon as he'd gotten over his initial shock. "Somebody _gutted_ the kid. You're a _horrible _babysitter!" Sam reached out and grabbed his brother's arm before the older man could continue his rant, slowly shaking his head, a warning him to not take it too far. Something was off.

Gabe just smiled. "You Winchesters," he said, his voice soft, dangerous. "I've got to say, I'm surprised at you. Underwhelmed, even. You're supposed to be the best of the best."

"You killed him," Sam said, "you brought us down here just to kill him?"

The angel shook his head. "No, Sam. Not him. It was never about the boy."

"You want me, then? This is about me coming back, isn't it? Not staying dead."

"You know," Gabe grinned, "I forget sometimes what you boys used to be. But at times like this… well, your humanity is showing. You're so honest and trusting, so easy to manipulate. I give you a name and you accept it, you believe it, you call me by it. You never stop to think or double-check, or question. And no matter what, you maintain that everything is about you." He nudged Toby's cooling body with the toe of his polished shoe. "You even got this one to believe it."

"Why, then?" Dean asked, "if you didn't want Toby and you didn't want Sam, why drag us all the way down here?"

Cool blue eyes locked with troubled hazel ones and the smile on the angel's face turned wicked. "Because this is it. This is the beginning of the end. Good will fall and darkness will ascend. But in that darkness is a light so pure, so hidden for so many millennia, that humankind won't even recognize it. They'll be blinded by what they were missing, what they deemed evil and wicked and wrong. We will rise to rule over this God-forsaken hunk of clay that you call Earth. I will bring light to my people and yours."

He looked down at them, and they looked up at him, staring, taking in everything that he'd just said, processing it. There was a meaning, they just had to find it.

Sam's body stiffened as realization hit him full force. He turned to Dean, his eyes wide, face pale, Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to swallow the lump of fear in his throat. "Dean," he finally managed to whisper, "what's 'light-bringer' in Latin?"

Dean thought about it for a moment before turning back up to the place where the angel formerly known as Gabe stood, appraising the brothers as the wheels turned in their heads. "Lucifer."

"Yahtzee!" the demon hissed, his eyes sparking with manic light as blackness swallowed up the whites of his eyes, leaving only the shining blue irises intact in the sea of darkness. He spread his wings behind him, the stunning white feathers falling, dropping to the roof of the mausoleum, turning to dust as they dropped. Revealed in their absence were the two wings that had been hidden for so long, black and leathery, torn in places. The wings of a devil. The wings of _the_ Devil.

"Well, what do you know," Dean quipped, "the Devil went down to Georgia."

Lucifer smirked. "If I had a nickel for every time I've heard that in the past week-"

"You lied to us," Sam interrupted, as if that fact hadn't been made obvious already.

"I lie to everyone," the Devil responded, "what makes you so special?"

"You pretended to be an angel. Is that even legal?"

"You didn't pay much attention in Sunday school, did you, Psychic Boy? I _am_ an angel. The Man Upstairs and I just had a bit of a… _falling out_."

Dean snorted. "Funny. Doesn't change the fact that you're evil incarnate, though."

He turned to Dean and grinned, eyes sparkling with malice. "What are you gonna do about it? _Slay_ me? God's own little warrior, right up there with Mikey. You gonna flick your wrist and waste me with that tiny little ember of yours? Huh? You really think something like that is gonna work on something like me?"

"Maybe," the angel replied, flicking his wrist and summoning his weapon without taking his eyes off of the thing that stood over Toby's mangled body.

Lucifer laughed. "Come on, Dean. You're not the smartest guy I've ever met, sure, but you're not stupid. You're a newbie compared to me. Young, untrained, _weak_. You exorcise a couple of my kids, take out a pet or two, and you think you're all that?" He rolled his eyes. "Humans."

Dean took a step forward, ignoring the warning look that his brother was giving him. "You underestimate me. I'm the best there's ever been." He smirked, flapping his blood-stained wings hard and lifting off the ground, swooping toward the fallen angel with his sword and the ready.

Lucifer reached out and grabbed Dean's wrist as the angel got within striking distance. He flipped the younger man over, sending him sprawling head-over-heels onto the roof of the mausoleum. Dean landed hard on his back, groaning as his wrist snapped under the Devil's strong grip.

He looked up at the evil being, who was staring down at him with a smile on his face. "You touched me."

"Yeah," the Devil nodded, "like I said, _something like me_, kid." He kicked Dean's sword out of his broken hand and knelt down beside the angel. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this." He grabbed Dean by his shirt collar and yanked him and around to his knees, facing him toward his brother. "You see, Sammy," he called out to the younger man, "It was _never_ about you."

He held his free hand out and Dean's sword flew into it. He looked down at Dean again, smiling wide. "It was always you," he hissed, "_always_." He placed the sword to the angel's flesh, right above the spot where bone and feather and muscle connected smoothly. "Let's fix this, shall we?"

Sam stood in the cemetery, dumbstruck, eyes wide. He started to run toward the mausoleum, to save his brother, but one look from the creature that they'd spent their whole lives believing was just a myth stopped him in his tracks.

"I'll get to you later," Lucifer cooed, turning back to Dean as Sam struggled to move his paralyzed limbs.

The sword began to slice through feathers and flesh, the butcher taking his sweet time, relishing the pain that he was inflicting, the tension of the angel's body, the way he bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out. It had been worth it, all of the waiting, the planning, the re-planning once the Goody-Two-Shoes had caught on. It had all been worth it just for this moment of victory.

Dean moaned pitifully, deep in his throat, watering eyes locked on Sam's still form, at the expression of pain on his brother's face, and he knew that he'd put it there, that Sam was feeling that same line of raw fire racing down his back, that he was forced to experience every twinge, every slice, every chip of bone being cut free and falling to the roof.

Blood cascaded down his sides, soaking his shirt and pants, soaking Toby, covering the demon's shoes. It was warm, sticky, signifying the end of his life, a trip into a different kind of eternity.

The pain traveled farther down his back, and he remembered. It was familiar, nearing the base of his spine, that final connection between heavenly and human. He remembered Sam, half of his back cut away, spine blindingly white against broken flesh and tattered clothing. He remembered himself with his brother's blood on his hands, coating his wings, thinking they had been safe and being wrong. He remembered the car, remembered the gun, remembered the release that death had brought form the pain, the shame of forcing his brother back from happily ever after to some shithole motel in some Podunk town.

He remembered being hopeless. He remembered being broken. He remembered being alone.

He was no longer immortal. Barely conscious, spots swimming in front of his eyes, he let his head drop, chin resting on his chest as the dust that used to be his pride and destiny rained down around him.

Lucifer spoke, his voice coming from far away, from the other end of a tunnel, dark and demented. Dean was sure that he wouldn't be going down that tunnel, knew that he was destined for better, for family, for rest and peace and Heaven. "Oh how the mighty have fallen." His head was yanked up by the hair and he forced his tired eyes open. The Devil smiled, his voice sickeningly sweet. "Just. Like. _Me_."

They both turned to look at Sam, still frozen in place, his eyes shining with the pain his brother had just endured. "Watch," Lucifer hissed, eyes brimming with malice as he released his hold on Dean's hair, keeping his hand on the mortal's head. His fingers spread across the dying man's scalp, glowing with a dark light.

Dean stared at his brother, eyes soft, begging for forgiveness, as the Devil added insult to injury. Sam watched as his brother aged before his eyes, hair graying and thinning under Lucifer's hand, laugh lines deepening, skin sagging, eyes drooping. He watched as his brother hit sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety in under a minute.

Dean screamed as he weakened, as he felt his skin begin to dry, to crack, to turn to dust while he stayed conscious, stayed alive, stayed mortal. Brittle flesh crumbled, internal organs shriveled away to nothing, bones turned to dust, and then he felt no more.


	9. Chapter 9

Wow. Sorry it took so long to update. I went to visit my college for next year on Saturday, then only had an hour after getting back to get ready for Prom. Then I slept. A lot. On Sunday. Then today I spent most of my time writing a short story called "Libra," if anyone wants to check it out :)

Anywaqy, here's chapter nine (finally!) and can you believe that there's only one chapter left in the whole OAW series now? I'm so emotional!

* * *

Sam fell to his knees as his brother's remains disintegrated, falling to the roof of the mausoleum to join what had become of his wings, blowing away on the breeze. "You bastard," he yelled to everyone and no one in particular. To Lucifer, to God, to anyone willing to listen. "You took him!"

The Devil sighed, his shoulders slumping, black wings unfurling to maintain balance as he slid from the roof. "Sammy," he consoled, "it had to be done. For my plan to work, Dean had to die."

"Your plan," Sam scoffed, "you said yourself that Dean couldn't stop you."

Lucifer smirked, stepping towards him, fingers laced behind his back. "Again, what makes you so special?"

Sam glared up at the creature. "I want to know why."

"Simple. I had to pave the way for my people to come and claim what is rightfully ours. I've been planning for this for a long time, Sam, longer than you could ever imagine. Even before my little… _scuffle_. What makes you people so special that you get the favor, huh? What makes you so perfect that you get to roam freely while my kind are confined to the fiery pit? What makes you so much better than us?"

"You won't get away with this."

"That's where you're wrong," he said, circling the fallen hunter, the mourning angel, "see, because I just eliminated the problem. Now there's nothing in Heaven or Erath that can stop me."

"Dean's in Heaven."

"No. Dean's in Hell."

"You're lying."

"Not this time, Psychic Boy."

"How?"

Lucifer shrugged. "What can I say? We made a deal. I gave him what he wanted and he took it. We _shook_ on it, Sammy. His soul for his wings and his brother. Not a bad deal."

"Why not just kill him when he was mortal?" Sam asked, refusing to believe anything that came out of the horrid thing's mouth.

"Now where's the fun in that? Besides, I didn't want to kill him, just break him. As soon as the news of his birth spread, I knew we were in trouble. That light that radiated off of him, it was sickening. It meant that my plan had been discovered. Good: 1, Evil:0. So I did the only thing I knew how."

"You got one of your minions on it."

He nodded. "Yellow-Eyes thanked me for the tip on the psychic kids. Killing you all, taking your powers. When I heard about you, heard about your abilities, I sent him there. I knew him. He would see your brother and freak out. He would start amassing an army. He would put you at its head."

"Hate to break it to you, Lucy," Sam muttered, his strength coming back as he spoke, biding for time, for reinforcements, for anything. Maybe even for Dean. "But that didn't quite work out."

"It almost did. I had you two pitted against each other. You should have seen his panic, his fear. I drank it up. He couldn't kill you, and he couldn't save you. So I offered to do it for him. You were healed, he got what he wanted, and I held his soul. And the best part was that he didn't even know."

"But he wasn't broken."

"Why do you think I sent Angie? With you dead, he would lose the will to fight, and this world would be ripe for the taking."

Sam smirked. "But something came up, right? Good: 2, Evil: 0."

"So I sent Orange-Eyes after you. That worked. You died, Dean was lost, and I even got him to turn his back on God. Bonus point."

"But I'm still here."

Lucifer scowled. "Don't remind me. I was so close, and then your side had to go and interfere again."

Sam shook his head. "You didn't break him. You couldn't. And I still don't see why you'd want to."

"Simple," the Devil said, stopping in front of Sam and looking down on him, "if I broke him, I could extinguish that light. Without that light, there would be no hope for your side. We would rise and take over, take what is rightfully ours, and you and your kind would see that you were wrong about us."

Sam slid fluidly from his kneeling position to stand, facing down the evil son of a bitch that had taken his brother. "You really think I'm gonna let you do that?" he snarled, clenching his fists, his fingernails breaking the skin of his palm, drawing blood, "because there's no way in Hell."

"What are you gonna do, Sammy? You gonna beat me to death with my _emotions_? I don't feel. Anything. Nothing but pride. You gonna touch me with your freaky glowy angel hands and knock me out? It doesn't work. How could something like you possibly defeat something like me?"

Sam felt his lip twitch as red hot anger flowed through his body, coursing like blood, pounding in his temples, traveling from his heart to his arm and down to his hand. Without thinking, he flicked his wrist, grinning wickedly as a spout of fire burst forth from his bleeding palm. "With this."

The Devil growled, an unearthly sound rising deep from within his throat. He raised his hands, his eyes never leaving Sam's, deep pools of blue shining out of the blackest pits of Hell. The sky began warp, the sounds of the birds disappeared, and everything beyond the cemetery gate turned as red as fire.

"Fine," he said, "but we do this my way. No help. Not for you. Not for me." He held out his hand toward the angel. "Deal?" Sammy narrowed his eyes, but took the proffered hand. Lucifer grinned. "Just remember: if you lose, the devil gets your soul."

He took a step back, away from the angel, and with a flick of his own wrist brought forth a sword made of the blackest energy, spitting dark flame, glowing with the torture of millions of lost souls.

Sam just smiled, raising his own weapon. "Let me show you how it's done."


	10. Chapter 10

Well, this is it. The final chapter. I'd like to thank everyone who read and reviewed. You have no idea how awesome it is to think that you've finished a series, then turn around ayear later to _actually_ finish it and find that people are still interested! So, if you like what you read, drop a line. If you don't... go away. Nobody likes you and you have no friends :)

* * *

Lucifer dealt the first blow. He ran at Sam, sword raised and at the ready, but Sam blocked him effortlessly, sending a shower of sparks down to the brown cemetery dirt.

Sam flapped his wings and went up, intending to dive-bomb his opponent, but Lucifer matched him, flap for flap, leaving the more inexperienced angel at a loss. He turned and headed back to the ground, to the feeling of something solid under his feet, and Lucifer again followed.

As soon as he'd landed, Sammy spun, striking upward and stabbing the demon in the ribs. Lucifer screamed, backing off as Sam pulled his weapon from the creature's side, and slashed out, leaving a clean cut in the younger man's arm.

Sam stepped back as the Devil reared back for another attack and tripped over a jutting tombstone, sprawling out flat on his back. The demon was standing over him in a flash, the tip of his flaming word at Sam's throat. "Look at the bright side. Family reunions are always fun."

Sam kicked at the older creature's legs, sending him toppling to ground. "Bit early for a victory speech, don't you think?" he asked, scrambling to retrieve his sword as the Devil stirred.

Lucifer held out his hand and his weapon flew into it. He looked at Sammy and grinned. "All right. You're good. But give the Devil his due."

Sam rolled his eyes as they began circling each other, swords held at the ready, each waiting for the other to strike first. Lucifer made the first move, stepping deftly toward Sam and striking out at him. Sam blocked the move and before he knew it they were locked tight in battle, swords clanging, sparking, connecting and disconnecting, a battle of skill, of wit, of good and evil.

He had the upper hand, was pushing the Devil back toward the mausoleum, when the gates opened up. Every demon that had been surrounding the cemetery flooded in as Sam turned to his opponent. Lucifer shrugged. "Humans."

"You-"

"Lied, yes," he said, smiling, "and I'll do it again, too." The demons surrounded them, blocking them in, staring with black eyes and evil grins. "Face it, Sam. You've lost. Dean's dead. I've won. Nothing you do now can stop me." He raised his sword, using it to push Sam's out of the way. "Now, I believe we had a deal?"

Gulping back fear, Sam lowered his weapon. His mind was numb with shock and grief and betrayal, and his body was soon to follow suit. He'd lost. The fate of the world, of the cosmos, had been put on his shoulders and he had lost. Hell had broken loose in Georgia and he hadn't been able to stop it. It could only spread from there, until it covered the entire Earth in despair.

Above them, the red hue of the sky rippled and cracked. Every set of eyes turned up toward the top of the dome they'd been enclosed in to see a rush of light falling toward them. Sam took that as his cue.

He slapped the sword out of Lucifer's slackened grip, sending it flying across the cemetery to land in a pile of brush. The Devil seemed not to have noticed. He spread his leathery wings and took off into the sky, as if trying to repair the rip in his shield and stop the light from pouring through.

Sam followed him, gaining momentum as he flew, glancing down at the ground only long enough to see the balls of light hitting the dirt to do battle with the demons. The cavalry had arrived.

He reached out and grabbed Lucifer's leg, pulling the demon back toward him, back to the earth. He shoved the older being down as he dove, pushing him now, heading toward the stone roof of the mausoleum amidst the clatter of swords and the screams of the fallen.

Lucifer's back hit the roof hard enough to crack it, hard enough to snap the fragile bones in his torn wings. Sam leaned over him, his face mere inches the Devil's and sneered at him. "Well, you're pretty good old son, but let me show you how it's done."

The demon smirked. "You can't. You won't." He leaned up until their noses were almost touching. "I can give you your brother back," he whispered.

Sam faltered, blinking. _Dean_. Dean had made a deal. Dean was in Hell. Dean was dead, dead because of this thing, because of a war they had no business in being a part of, because destiny had handed them both a rotten hand, and-

He wasn't sure how it had happened, but it had happened. He was lying flat on his back, wings spread out on either side of him, his head lying in the pile of ash that had once been his brother. Lucifer stood over him, grinning like a maniac, recovered sword held aloft. "Run, boy. _Run_."

But Sam couldn't move. The damned thing had frozen him to his spot, had taken his only weapon, his only family, his only hope. He took one last breath, looking up at the Devil with hard, determined eyes, and waited.

A shaft of fire burst suddenly through Lucifer's middle as he prepared to kill the angel. Sam's eyes went wide as he felt the Devil's paralyzing hold loosen. The demon dropped his sword to his side as Sam scrambled out from under him. The creature hit his knees, falling forward onto his hands, revealing the person who had delivered the blow.

"Dean?" Sam whispered.

His brother stepped up beside the fallen angel and smirked. "And the Devil bowed his head because he knew that he'd been beat." He kicked the demon's sword away, off of the roof. "He laid that golden fiddle on the ground at Johnny's feet. Johnny said, 'Devil, just come on back, if you ever want to try again.'" he grabbed a handful of blond hair and pulled Lucifer's face up toward his own. "'Cause I told you once, you son of a bitch," with one swift movement, he stabbed the Devil in the back, angling the blade to detach the blackened wings from his back. "I'm the best there's ever been." The creature disintegrated into a pile of dust.

All around them, the sounds of the battle ceased as the demons possessing the townspeople died inside their hosts and the angels began the process of healing the injured. Sam turned wide eyes toward his brother. "You're alive?"

Dean grinned. "Not anymore." His sword faded from existence, and now Sam could see it, a soft light emanating from the older man, bathing him an ethereal glow, the light for the world. Dean held out his hand to help his brother up.

"He said you went to Hell."

"Come on, Sammy," Dean scoffed, "you really think God's gonna let Her perfect little soldier roast for all eternity?"

Sam blinked. "_Her_?"

"Yeah," the older man nodded. "Turns out that He is a She. By the way, little bit of advice, never hit on the first person you meet in Heaven."

"I'll remember that," Sam grinned, "if I ever make it."

Dean frowned, slumping his shoulders, stunningly white wings still stained with the blood of his brother dropping with the action. "Dude, no way I'm leaving you here all alone. I don't trust you enough."

"But-"

"It's _over_, Sammy." He glanced down at the pile of dust swirling at their feet. "He's dead. We can go home."

"Home?" Sam asked, looking up toward the sky, at the light that had filled the once bleak and dismal cemetery, "you mean…?"

"Unless you want to stay here and fight the now non-existent demons for the rest of eternity, yeah. Everyone's waiting."

"Everyone?"

Dean nodded. "The lying son of a bitch was telling the truth about dad. He got a get outta Hell free card when he saved me." He followed Sam's gaze up to the sky. "So, you ready?"

"Dude, I've been ready for the past five hundred years."

"Five hundred and four," Dean smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets, "I win."

"It's not a contest, Dean."

"If it were, I would have won."

"Fine, Dean," Sam sighed, "if there was something to win, you would have won it. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic."

Smiling, the Winchester brothers both spread their wings and flew off into the light.

* * *

Well, that's it. Thanks again for enjoying the story (at least, I hope you enjoyed it). As always, keep looking for more of my stuff. I have no life, so i'm always writing :) See ya!


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